


these walls were built to fall

by tiltingheartand



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:18:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiltingheartand/pseuds/tiltingheartand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce; Tony; two masquerades, twenty years apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	these walls were built to fall

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/6021.html?thread=9291653#t9291653), from avengerkink@LJ: _Before his Hulk days Bruce found himself at one of those scientific community formal events. He usually hates the them being all awkward and everyone being too drunk to actually want to talk about science. This one was masquerade ball though and the ability to pretend to be someone else made Bruce feel oddly confident._
> 
> _Basically he hooked up with Tony Stark, obviously had no idea who he was because of the masks and its was hot, damn hot._
> 
> _Cue the present day and Tony has forced all the Avengers to join him at some formal Charity event which so happens to be a masquerade ball._
> 
> _Bruce and Tony both start remembering that night and somehow the hook up again._  
> 
> _1000+ If one of them says something at the present day ball that makes the other realise it was them all those years ago_
> 
> _100000+ Blowjobs lots of blowjobs in formalwear please_
> 
> Also: title shamelessly taken from a song called "Momentum" by The Hush Sound. And eight million thanks to immortality@LJ for sternfacing at me.

This is how the evening started: he got out of the shower, opened his closet, and instead of _his_ suit and _his_ mask hanging in there he saw a suit that definitely did not belong to him and a mask he'd never seen before. When he said something about it, his roommate had started talking about how _his_ suit made him look like a crotchety tenured professor and _this_ suit -- "since we're basically the same size --" "you mean because you always steal my clothes?" -- will help him make the impression he needs to make. And also something about his original mask being mass-produced shit from a party store, whereas this mask was hand-crafted with love (and apparently a lot of caffeine and glitter, with some sequins thrown in for good measure). 

So he shrugged, and got dressed, and realized as he was putting the mask on and tying the ribbon around the back of his head that he barely recognized himself -- the suit that wasn't his, the mask that wasn't his, the mask _period_ , they all resulted in a man looking at him from the mirror who could've been anyone. Could've been someone who hadn't --

But if he was going to be someone else for the evening, he was going to be leaving Bruce's thoughts behind too. This new person he was trying out for size didn't have any of that, did he -- maybe he didn't have a perfect childhood, because who ever does, maybe his parents split up and were living in different states, but they were living. Maybe he didn't have the greatest self-image, because who ever does, but -- no.

(He figures it's either this approach, the _why not just go with it, how many masquerade balls are you going to go to in your life?_ one, or the approach where he knows he has to go to this community event his doctoral program is half-sponsoring to network, to make an impression, to talk up the fundraisers, but he doesn't have to like it and doesn't plan on it either. All things considered, the first one sounds easier.)

So he got to the masquerade ball, and said his hellos to the people they mattered to, made plans for the next week and a half or so, and then the lights dimmed slightly and music started to play, proving that this actually was a masquerade _ball_.

And now -- he's having more fun than he expected, if he's honest, even if (possibly because) he hasn't danced yet. He's got a glass of champagne in his hand more to be holding something than to drink, although he is sipping occasionally, and he's actually having conversations with people he probably doesn't know, who probably don't know him (he could be Tony Stark for all anybody could tell right now, especially since a big deal had been made about Stark actually coming to this thing, but he imagines Stark will probably be doing the actual masquerade thing instead of just showing up in a mask). They're not making any faces at him -- none he can see, anyway -- and nobody storms off in a huff or starts laughing at him, so he supposes it's been a success.

Turns out, on the other hand, that doing that is exhausting. On the bright side, he knows if he can make it to the other side of the room there's a way out to a hedge garden-maze-whatever where he can duck and catch his breath. Metaphorically. Or possibly literally, depending on how hard it is to get across the room.

Somehow, skirting the edges and trying to attract as little attention as possible, someone notices him anyway; someone slightly taller than Bruce, wearing a nice suit and a gorgeous red mask, steps smoothly in front of him. "May I have this dance?" the figure asks, and the look on what Bruce can see of his face suggests he's well aware of how completely ridiculous that line is, and he's not sure why, but Bruce grins and takes the guy's hand.

It's a -- waltz, or something, he guesses. Luckily the guy in the red mask seems to know what he's doing, so Bruce just tries to follow along without falling over. It looks like a lot of the pairs out on the dance floor -- a surprising number of them made up of two people in suits, he sees, and relaxes ever so slightly -- seem to be doing the same thing.

"So," the guy in the red mask says, and Bruce swears he's raising his eyebrows behind that thing. "Come here often?"

Bruce laughs, shaking his head. "As rarely as possible, actually," he says, and it's the truth. "You?"

"Not too often, no, although it's certainly rapidly going up in my list of places to revisit," the guy in the red mask says, and winks. It's not as obvious a wink Bruce would've expected, after a line like that, and also --

"You feel like telling me your name? I can't keep calling you _the guy in the red mask_ ; it takes too long to say, even in my head."

Now the guy in the red mask is grinning, bobs his head side to side in a _that's fair_ expression. "Call me Eddie," he says, and Bruce nods. "What about you? Same goes for _the guy in the blue and purple and silver swirly mask_ , and I gotta say, I think I have more of a case for this than you did."

"Isaac," Bruce says, and immediately thereafter has _no idea why_. Seriously -- he goes to the roommate's name place before he goes to his other _actual name_ place?

But that's a thought for normal-Bruce, not for the person he's decided to be until the end of the night, so he ignores it in favor of enjoying how well Eddie dances, even though they seem to have jumped in just as the song was winding down. "One more?" Eddie asks, and Bruce must make some kind of face because he continues with, "or not," and it looks like he's about to walk away so Bruce says, "No, no, I just -- I was on my way to go get some air when you asked me to dance."

"Oh," says Eddie, and, "You want to come with me?" asks Bruce, once he realizes that wasn't terribly clear.

"Gosh, all alone on such a lovely night with such a dashing young fellow? I don't know if my virtue could handle it. Which is as good a reason as any of the myriad other, valid, reasons to say _yeah, just please keep me from getting really fucking lost, I have no idea how to get out of this room_."

Bruce laughs, because he remembers that feeling, and then they're winding their way through the crowd at the other edge of the room and through the doors into what turns out to be, just like Eddie had said, a lovely night. When Bruce keeps walking after they get into the hedge maze, he hears confused noises from behind him, but he doesn't stop until they're near what he's pretty sure is the middle.

"Okay, I was joking about my virtue, were you planning on taking me up on it?" Eddie's grinning. "Not that I would mind, for the record, I'd just like to know what I'm getting into here."

"Assuming more people decide to hide in here, I'm guessing few of them will make it this far in. So it'll probably stay quieter." Bruce shrugs, and sits on one of the benches, leaning back against the hedges (he was going to get the suit cleaned before he gave it back anyway, right?) and looking up at the sky. A moment later he feels Eddie sit down next to him, the sides of their legs pressed together. It's a big bench, there's definitely room enough for them to each have space, so unless Eddie misjudged -- and as half a minute passes and Eddie doesn't move that becomes almost completely unlikely -- it was a conscious choice.

Bruce is surprisingly okay with that.

"Not a big fan of masquerades?"

"As an abstract concept they're fine, really," Bruce says, and shrugs. Not that Eddie can see -- if he cuts his eyes to the side he sees Eddie's looking up, just like he is -- but they're touching just enough he knows Eddie will feel it and get the gist. "... maybe less so when they're happening specifically to me, though," he concedes, finally, and hears Eddie laughing softly.

"Yeah, you always hope they'll be different, and then it turns out it's the same thing all over again." Now it's Eddie's turn to shrug, and Bruce has a feeling they're talking about two different things, but he agrees either way.

It's peaceful out here. He can't hear anyone else from the ball yet, so other than the sounds the leaves are making on themselves and the occasional animal, all he can hear is himself and Eddie next to him.

"They're exhausting," he says, maybe a minute or two later. "I thought, why not be that person you wish you were sometimes? The one who's okay with big groups of people, the one who can talk to strangers with total ease, the one who doesn't overthink everything he does before he does it? But apparently that takes a lot of energy."

"You seem to be doing pretty well," Eddie says, and reaches over with surprising accuracy to squeeze Bruce's hand. When ten seconds go by and he isn't showing any signs of pulling away, Bruce turns his own hand over and laces their fingers together; Eddie squeezes his hand again, barely, and Bruce smiles up at the sky.

This is coming alarmingly close to becoming a situation, he realizes, only without the alarming part, because if there's any night of his life to have a situation like this it's tonight. And Eddie definitely seems -- well he's not pushing, or anything, which is nice, but Bruce is getting the impression (would possibly need to have not been paying any attention whatsoever not to get the impression, really) that if this goes anywhere, Eddie's definitely okay with it. 

So maybe he'll stop thinking of it as a situation; maybe he'll just stop thinking.

(Maybe he'll just stop breathing. He'll start by not thinking of it as a situation and take it from there.)

"Why purple?" Eddie says, a while later.

"Hm?" Bruce says, intelligently, not at all startled.

"It's not a color you see in such a large quantity too often, purple," Eddie says. "I mean yeah, cut with silver and blue, but purple's purple, and that is _very_ purple."

Which should've been obvious, really. "Oh," Bruce says, and snorts. "I had a black one picked out and ready to go, and when I got to my apartment today this was hanging there instead. My roommate made it in what I'm assuming was a caffeine-induced haze of glue fumes and glitter."

Eddie has no response, and Bruce is surprised until he realizes he can feel Eddie looking at him. He drops his head down so he can look back at Eddie, and it's about three seconds until things will probably get really awkward when Eddie says, "It brings out your eyes," and smiles.

Not what Bruce was expecting. And it sends a wave of warmth through his body, settling in where their bodies are touching, where their fingers are laced together. "Same for yours," he says, partly to fill the silence but mostly because it's true.

And then two seconds pass, and he's not sure who moves first, him or Eddie, but the end result is the same: they're kissing on the bench in the middle of the hedge maze. It's stupid and impulsive and also the best thing he's done in a while. They both pull away for air at the same time, too, and Bruce feels Eddie reach up so he's covering the hand Bruce put on his cheek (without realizing it, somehow) with his own. He's thinking about saying something, maybe _you okay with this?_ or _your hands are really great_ , and decides maybe not, even with the mask. Instead he leans forward (he gives himself the completely worthless point for this time) and kisses Eddie again.

Eddie: definitely on board.

So they kiss, and it's amazing, and then he feels Eddie open his mouth so he opens _his_ mouth and it's frantic and kind of sloppy and even more amazing. Eddie swings a leg across Bruce so he's straddling his lap, the upsides of which are less neck turning (more neck tilting, but that's fine) and about 500% more contact between the two of them, and Bruce wonders how badly Eddie's knees are going to hurt tomorrow from being in that position, and -- 

He hasn't done this much. He's had sex before, yeah, he's kissed people without really making plans to proceed into sex, sure, but he hasn't done too terribly much of either, so he's still at the stage (hopes it's a stage, because he has plans for a sex life in the future and what normally happens is definitely enjoyable but also slightly exhausting) where he overthinks everything, weighs all the options he can see before proceeding, does everything with care. Here, though, tonight, halfway a conscious decision and the half that follows something that seems inevitable, it feels like his thoughts are all filing out of his brain politely, the last one turning the light off and shutting the door behind it, and it's -- this is also freeing, in a different way than earlier but in that precise way at the same time. He's not himself, so why should he do this like himself?

Which is what he decides upon right before carefully exerting just enough pressure on Eddie that they're laying out on the bench, Bruce on top, their torsos and upper legs pressed up against each other, and Bruce knows Eddie's hard underneath him because Eddie's erection is pressing into his own.

And that's, okay, that's a phenomenal thought, there are _definitely_ possibilities there, but apparently the rest of him has other plans, because the next thing he knows he's broken away to bite gently from Eddie's jaw up to his ear and say "I would really like to blow you" in a voice Bruce almost can't believe is his.

That's less important, though, than the noise Eddie makes, a noise Bruce will probably hear for the rest of his life (only when he's alone, if he's lucky, because _fuck_ ), a noise that's actually surprisingly loud. Bruce reacts without thinking about it, reaching up and laying a hand over Eddie's mouth, because he could _swear_ he just heard footsteps somewhere close. He stills, underneath him Eddie does the same, and they wait in silence until half a minute's gone by and they can't hear anyone approaching. Still, it's something to remember; as he moves his hand from Eddie's mouth he puts his index finger across the closed lips, locks eyes with Eddie until he knows he's been understood.

And then, well. They're kissing again, partly because the stillness broke whatever mood they'd had and partly because, you know, obviously. When he feels Eddie start to squirm ever so slightly under him, he disentangles himself and scoots down the bench until he's level with the fly of Eddie's suit pants. He's never actually done this before, the urge to give this guy a blowjob kind of coming out of nowhere, but he's gotten a few, knows the basic idea, and anyway this is going against his plan to stop with the goddamn thinking, isn't it. So instead of just staring at the button and zipper (and _maybe_ salivating a little, but he will take that to his grave), he undoes them instead, pokes gently at Eddie's thighs until he bows up off the bench enough to let Bruce help him shimmy his pants and underwear down to mid-thigh, and this is the point at which they will officially be _fucked_ if anyone comes around, but this is also the point at which Bruce decides this has been a fan _tas_ tic idea, so far, and there's no way he's stopping now.

So instead of stopping he leans over just a bit and sucks, very gently, on the head of Eddie's cock, partly to see what it's like and partly because he has a feeling doing that would make Eddie crazy; he knows he's right when he hears an incredibly muffled noise from up where Eddie is.

Where, it would seem, he's grabbed his pocket square from the front of his suit and stuffed it into his mouth. Probably the best idea. (He'd like to hear what Eddie sounds like in the privacy of someone's home, when he can make as much noise as he wants, but he also knows this is, this _has_ to be a one-time thing, so he pushes that thought away, along with any other stray ones that have crept in, and closes the door again.)

He waits to catch Eddie's eye again and winks, almost inexplicably (sure, take issue with the wink, perfectly sensible; not the blowjob, the wink), and takes Eddie back into his mouth. He's probably not very good at this, although he's doing his best, trying to figure out how to use his hands to their best advantage and discovering he can open his mouth a lot wider than he thought. When he sneaks another look back up he sees Eddie's got one hand pressed up against his mouth, listens and isn't surprised to hear faint sounds anyway, and figures he's doing pretty well. A few seconds (or a minute, or five; it's hard to judge) later, he feels Eddie's hand start petting through the curls on the back of his head. From the way his own cock suddenly goes from _hey, you really need to be touching me now_ to _holy shit touch me now or I'm abandoning you and doing this shit myself_ he's going to say he likes it, so he pulls back up some and sucks extra-hard on the head again, just to see -- and yeah, there's that muffled noise again.

He's not sure how long they're like that, Eddie's hand tangled in Bruce's hair while he gives Eddie the best blowjob he knows how to, before suddenly he feels Eddie move his hand down his shoulder and squeeze sharply three times. He moves back in time for Eddie to put his mangled pocket square to another use it probably hadn't been intended for, and on impulse covers Eddie's hand with one of his own, strokes a few times with his other hand until he hears a groan he's about 90% sure Eddie hadn't even been _trying_ to muffle and the hankerchief in their hands fills with come.

Bruce can hear Eddie panting from further up the bench. It's absurdly arousing -- not that he needs any more encouragement, _seriously_ \-- and he's just leaned his forehead onto Eddie's stomach, undoing his own pants this time, when he hears vaguely negative noises for about two seconds and then is suddenly being pulled back up the bench, along Eddie, until they're face-to-face. Which also puts Eddie within reaching distance of Bruce's own cock, inexplicable second handkerchief in hand, and he'd be embarrassed at how quickly he comes, face turned so it's pressed into Eddie's neck to keep himself quiet, except he doesn't actually care anymore.

"Christ," Eddie says when they're both breathing normally again. Bruce laughs softly. They're about to kiss again when Bruce hears someone coming through the maze, and this time Eddie _definitely_ hears it too, so instead of anything else what they do is sit up quickly, make sure they're both all done up and presentable and there aren't any incriminating come stains on either of them, so that when the couple making their way to the other end of the maze passes through the center they pass two young men leaning back against a hedge and looking at the stars.

Once they're gone Bruce stands up, because he probably shouldn't have left in the first place and really ought to be getting back, definitely. Eddie stands up a moment later, grabbing Bruce's hand, and says, "There is no way I am getting out of here by myself, I hope you know that," and Bruce grins. When they make it out (only two wrong turns, which is an improvement from their trip in), Bruce starts to excuse himself but instead Eddie says, "Yeah, I know, I have to go be a useful member of society again too," and Bruce nods. "But," Eddie says, and steps closer to Bruce so he can talk softly enough they're the only two who'll be able to hear, "I definitely owe you a blowjob, and I will find a way to pay you back someday, that's a promise," and then he raises his eyebrows, steps back, and walks away, smile on his face.

(And then life happens, and this someday never comes, and Bruce mostly forgets about it.)

 

 

The absurd thing, the _profoundly_ absurd thing, is that Bruce has no idea how he got here. He remembers the chain of events, sure, but the space between those and the fact that he's standing here, something to explain it all, is nonexistent, because what had happened was this: Tony came home to the Tower, one day, gathered everyone -- well everyone on this world, anyway, Thor was still off doing Asgardian things in Asgard, they were all assuming -- up, and said, "So there's a masquerade ball in a month and everybody's invited! And by that I mean if I have to go so do the rest of you, this is not actually optional no matter what the paper invitations say." 

And nobody else had a problem with it, as far as he could tell -- Natasha and Clint did exchange a look that could probably most accurately be described as terrifying, and Bruce worried about that for a second before deciding he could worry about it later or, better yet, let someone else worry about it, since whatever they had in mind he had a feeling he'd be on their side for, but other than that everyone had been fine. And he could've said, "Tony, I'm not good at dealing with people who aren't living with me or in a lab with me, this is a _terrible idea_ ," which was true and had been since he was in school -- he felt like someone else when he was in a lab, someone less awkward and awful, almost comfortable in himself. And, surprising living arrangements and all (he's _still_ not sure when Clint and Natasha had officially started calling the Tower home), things had been going smoothly, or had been since the Cheese Stick Incident in February, and that had been an isolated incident with a lot of extenuating circumstances. He could've said, "Tony, nobody knows who the other guy is when he's a person, nobody would miss me," but he has a feeling there's a hole in his logic shaped like Tony saying, "But Bruce, everybody knows there are five Avengers on Earth, they'd definitely know something was up, and anyway _I_ would miss you," with that look on his face halfway between joking and sincere that Bruce had decided was there so Tony would never have to actually commit one way or the other. He could've just said, " _Tony_ ," and let that be it, but he had a feeling the unspoken words would've been ones he didn't approve of.

So he went along with it, because why not, he supposed, and started to try and figure out what he was going to wear, because this time around he didn't even have a crotchety tenured professor suit hanging in his closet. But a week before the ball, he found a suit hanging in his closet with a note sticking out of the breast pocket that said _I'm taking care of your mask, too, don't worry about it, just don't forget to shower_ in Tony's handwriting, which was kind of rich coming from a guy who sometimes disappeared into his workroom for days on end and who usually surfaced covered in grease or soot, wearing clothes that could probably stand up without Tony in them. 

And then earlier that evening he'd showered, thank you very much, and gotten dressed, and tied the ribbons on the mask that'd shown up in his closet earlier that day behind his head, and now he's been here for twenty minutes so it's safe to say this is a definite thing, but he still feels like he's missing a vital piece of the puzzle.

(He's trying hard not to remember the last -- and first -- masquerade ball he went to, although it's hard not to: glass of champagne he's barely drinking in his hand, mask not his, suit not his. If he can't avoid comparisons up to that point, anyway, he'll definitely be sure to do so past that point, because he doesn't want to hold this one to the incredibly high standard the last one he attended had set. He knows it's unrealistic. Also probably not a good idea, all things considered.)

He's managed to avoid any more taxing conversation than small talk so far and, stationing himself against a sparsely-populated wall, plans to keep it that way. There are people actually dancing, which amuses him for no good reason, although he does occasionally shoot a worried glance up at the chandelier above the dance floor too -- it's unlikely he would be able to see anything truly worrying from down here, but he feels he ought to try anyway.

"I wasn't actually serious, you know," says Tony, from his left, and Bruce turns to respond and blinks, instead, because what Tony's wearing -- dark suit, dark tie, facial hair that's unusually reserved, a mask that kind of reminds Bruce of the night sky and is not at all flashy -- is not, in fact, what he would've pictured Tony wearing to a masquerade ball. Not that he's really thought about it or anything. (That's a lie, and it's a stupid lie because even though he had he had completely underestimated both Tony and Tony's effect on him.) "I mean, even ignoring the fact that it'd be a really shitty thing to do, even for me, I am aware that the chandelier falls at a different point. In a different act, even. I just couldn't resist the joke." There's a pause, and Bruce can see a thoughtful expression behind the mask. "It's possible somebody might show up dressed as the Red Death, though. I have no comment on the matter."

Bruce laughs down at his glass of champagne, very slightly relieved, and Tony leans back against the wall next to him, their arms brushing. "You planning on holding this wall up the whole night? I mean it's a great idea, everyone likes it when the walls don't come down, but I'm pretty sure that's what all the stuff inside the walls are for. You're probably safe to do something else, if you wanted."

"Well who _knows_ what went into the plans for this place, Tony," Bruce says, going along with it for a second, before he lets it go and shrugs instead, lets their arms touch a little more, then draw apart again. He can't think of a way to politely take a step away, and Tony would follow him anyway so it'd be pointless. "Not really the biggest fan of big events," he says.

"Hey," Tony says, and nudges his shoulder companionably, and sure, okay, he'll take that and forget the context when he remembers this later. "Nobody says you've gotta be you here, you know. Have you seen -- oh, no, here they come now." Tony gestures over to the far side of the ballroom, where two people are entering, a woman in a very large, incredibly unwieldy-looking dress and a mask with a black-and-red diamond pattern on it and a man in a dark suit with things that look like gauntlets on over his lower arms, tie and mask red and gold. The woman's got shortish curly red hair, and the man has dark hair he's slicked back along his head and elaborate-looking facial hair, and a lot of people are flocking over to say hello.

He probably would've thought the man was Tony, if Tony hadn't been standing right next to him, and if that's not Tony then that's probably not Natasha, either, and --

"Oh my god," he says, and then, "I think this is one of the reasons people were worried about you and Clint and Natasha working together."

When he finally looks away, over at Tony, he's grinning. "Hey, they had the idea to switch by themselves, Clint already had his dress picked out and everything. And for some reason a wig in his closet already. I just suggested to Natasha that she wear something people would expect me in instead. She told me she was planning on keeping track of how many people go up to greet Tony Stark and get her instead. So she'll get left alone after this first rush, more or less, and I'll get mostly left alone because nobody knows who the hell I am wearing this, and that way everybody wins."

"You want to get left alone?"

"Oh, occasionally. Shocking, I know." Now it's Tony's turn to shrug. "Sometimes an opportunity for anonymity is too good to refuse. We're gonna have to do a thing before the evening ends, but I've got spare ties and masks hidden away somewhere for that if you want to talk to people without them finding out who you are after."

Bruce blinks, although for some reason he's not as surprised as he thinks he ought to be at the first part, and then he smiles, because the second part's a nice gesture. "I'll think about it, how's that."

"I guess it's enough for now," Tony says, and gets a look in his eyes like he's got a plan all of a sudden. "If not, though, you really are doing a great job with the wall." And then Tony walks off, but he's walking with serious purpose, and as Bruce watches he figures out where he's going, because Steve might be dressed up like the rest of them but he's really hard to hide. Which, thinking of, really he ought to go talk to Natasha and Clint, congratulate them on their costumes at the very least, so he takes a deep breath and starts making through the people to their side of the room.

Almost an hour later he's still got the same champagne glass in his hand, although at least he's moved to a different wall now, he supposes. He's actually kind of enjoying the music, humming along under his breath, when someone in a very familiar mask steps into his line of sight. "So I couldn't help but notice that you, stranger, have been hugging the wall all night, and I've got to tell you that is a real shame," Tony says, trying to keep a straight face with about 95% success, and holds out a hand. "May I have this dance?"

Bruce laughs, but now Tony's laughing too, and his hand's still held out, so Bruce thinks, well, why not, sets his champagne glass on a passing server's tray and steps out onto the floor with Tony.

He lets Tony lead, because he still has no idea what he's doing and it seems like Tony does, although he's pretty sure the dancers aren't normally quite this close. Then again, he's never seen Tony dance before; this might be totally normal for him. "So, dashing stranger in the purple mask, do you have a name that's shorter, by any chance? Not that I object to calling you Dashing Stranger in the Purple Mask, but there has to be something easier."

"Isaac," he says, not thinking, and immediately rolls his eyes at himself, because once was bad enough but twice is pushing it. There's another name on his actual birth certificate; why did he feel the need to grab the name of a roommate he hasn't seen in twenty years instead? "How about you, dashing stranger in the mask that kind of looks like the night sky? I feel like I should get credit for this plan, if only because I have a better case for it than you do," he says, a second later, and realizes after they come out of his mouth he's echoing words somebody else told him that night, wonders why. He supposes the conversation's running along similar enough lines it makes sense.

Tony looks surprised, actually, although that's probably because Bruce called him dashing, and then he smiles, all charm again. "Well, Isaac, I don't often object to good-looking men calling me dashing, but if you're really set on a name call me Eddie."

"Eddie," Bruce says, and nods, and -- well, he's thinking about that night already anyway, supposes the connection is unavoidable, but. But _nothing_ , because he knows for a _fact_ that Tony's middle name is Edward, and even if it wasn't it's not like it's a rare name. So he ignores how well they're dancing (how well Tony's leading him), the prickling at the back of his neck, the fact that now he's paying attention there's a definite similarity of voices, because anyway he's busy enough paying attention to the place on his hip Tony set his hand. He needs to deal with what's real, what's _here_ , not what he's imagining might be. "I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I'm pretty sure we've progressed beyond that already."

Tony grins, squeezes his hip gently in warning and then sends him out into a twirl. When he pulls him back in, Tony says, "So, Isaac, how about that purple mask? It's a bold move, you know, a color like that."

Bruce shrugs. "It showed up in my closet today, I just put it on. Ask the guy who gave it to me." The conversation is running on similar lines, still. Maybe purple really is an unusual color. Maybe everybody just has the same conversation, over and over again, at every masquerade ball they attend. 

"Oh, _well_ ," Tony says, sounding slightly scandalized. "Does this guy give it to you often?"

"Well," Bruce says, ignoring the bait completely, "this suit showed up a week ago, so."

Tony moves them apart while they dance, just enough he can showily judge the suit, and then pulls them back together. "This guy must have great taste, to dress you so well. He must be serious about you."

It takes Bruce a second to figure out what Tony means, even with the innuendo just a moment ago, and when he does it startles a laugh out of him. "Oh, no, no. We came here with some friends, I'm pretty sure he gave all of us the clothes we're wearing tonight. And," he adds as an afterthought, "he and his girlfriend just broke up a month ago, I don't think he'd want to jump back in that particular pool so soon."

"Interesting choice of protests, Isaac," Tony says, spins him out and back in again. "What would you say if he told you he was serious about you? I like matchmaking," he says, and maybe it's Bruce's imagination but it sounds like the second part was an afterthought just like his. "In my circle of friends I've helped along several successful relationships."

For a second Bruce wants to ask him to define _successful_ in this context, but then he thinks better of it, because that could be fact or that could just be Tony extrapolating wildly, and neither would surprise him at this point. Instead he considers the actual question that's been posed, tries to decide how he wants to answer it. In the end he figures the easiest answer is the one he's been telling himself for the past few months every time he wonders, even a little, because if he doesn't cut that off right there it'll keep going, and that's. Dangerous.

(It's a legitimate strategy. It hasn't been a particularly _effective_ strategy, but he's holding out hope.)

"I guess I would say _it's not you, it's me_ , and hope that he knew I was serious about that. It's not -- it's not safe to be serious about me. I'm not safe. And I don't want to pretend that I am and then be forcibly reminded how wrong that is. I don't want to hurt him."

"He sounds like a big boy, Isaac. You don't want to let him judge whether or not you could hurt him?"

"Big boys can still get their bones pulverized, Eddie," Bruce says, and looks him square in the eye until Tony finally looks away.

"Would you let him have a rebuttal?" he asks, looking back at Bruce just as Bruce is starting to make up his mind to walk away. And then, "No, never mind, that wouldn't be fair. So to move off this topic, can I ask why you seemed so intent on being intimate with the wall all night? There are public indecency laws, you know, I'm pretty sure they apply here too."

That startles a laugh out of Bruce, who's briefly too busy trying to picture how that would work to answer the question. "Oh, it's -- the concept of a masquerade is okay, in an abstract way, just not necessarily in my particular case. The concept of _any_ sizable group of people is okay in an abstract way without that being true in my particular case. It's kind of exhausting, honestly," he says, because what was true then is even more true now, and then, "Oh, sorry, was that your foot? Shit, sorry," when he hears Tony's sharp intake of breath. But Tony waves it off, gives him a smile that fades before too long.

"I guess that's fair," Tony says, voice oddly calm. "Especially if you're not too outgoing in your normal life -- I can see how you'd be tempted to say, hey, why not be that person you wish you were sometimes? The one who's okay with big groups of people, the one who can talk to strangers with total ease, the one who doesn't overthink everything he does before he does it? But it would probably take a lot of energy."

And --

There comes a point when things can no longer be ignored.

"Why purple, Tony?" Bruce asks, and their faces are close enough he knows Tony can hear, even though the question comes out softer than he meant it to.

"It brings out your eyes, Bruce," Tony says, just as soft.

The music comes to a stop. Overhead, the lights gradually start to brighten. 

"I know I rescinded the rebuttal request, but I'm giving it to you anyway because you deserve to have all the facts before you make a decision," Tony says, staying close. If Bruce wanted he could lean forward, see what would happen if he kissed Tony. (He wants to; he won't.) "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," says Bruce, immediately, because it had taken him a little while but he'd accepted that months ago, and something like that was pointless to fight.

"As quickly as you said that, as much sincerity as you put in that? That's how much I trust you, Bruce," Tony says. "I know you have him under control. You have _yourself_ under control. If something between us ended badly it'd be because of you or me, nobody else, and I know we're both too smart to let that happen."

"Tony --"

"Just think about it? I'll even make you a deal, if you want: I will tell you the minute -- the second, if you prefer -- I feel unsafe around you because of the other guy. Or the minute I feel unsafe around you period. I'll promise you that on whatever you want me to."

"Why?"

"Because you're amazing in every way I can think of and all other ways that are true but aren't coming to mind. Because nobody says something like what you said earlier, no matter what happens when they let their anger take over, if they're not talking themselves out of doing something they want to do but think they shouldn't. Because you deserve so much better than you think you do -- you're still helping people, you know. Even though you live in the Tower."

The problem with Tony's logic, at least as far as the middle sentence, which is all he's choosing to deal with right now, is that (unsurprisingly) there _are_ no problems. 

Every sentence he can think of to say aloud starts with "I don't --" or "you can't --" and he wants to be able to put together a well-thought argument, here, and isn't even going to come close. "Tony," he says, going with a classic instead.

"No rush," Tony says, and reaches over from where he'd reclaimed his arms to squeeze one of Bruce's hands, gently. Before he can pull his hand away, Bruce flips his, interlacing the fingers together, and finds he knows what to say.

"When I know you'll know." This is not the unambiguous _no_ he'd been planning on. From what he can see of Tony's face behind the mask he thinks he's semi-okay with that.

"We're gonna be due onstage in about ten minutes, we should probably get going," Tony says, pulling them both out of a moment. "Your mask and tie, if you want to switch them out, are somewhere in the bowels of this building; Clint and Natasha and Steve will probably be waiting for us there."

So they let their hands drop, and make it to their destination without any problems, somehow, and then a few minute later they're back in front of everyone, and Tony's talking about the charity holding this great event, guys, bravo, and how it really is a great cause, too.

He's listening to what Tony says, definitely, but he's also trying hard to only think of what Tony is saying at this precise moment, because he's not sure this is a conversation he wants to have with himself in anything that could be construed to be public. It looks like it's planning on being a pretty involved one.

And then they leave, everyone seeming to be in good spirits, and Bruce politely excuses himself to his room and paces for half an hour.

It doesn't help.

All it does, really, is make him want to walk around the Tower, and he reasons that since he lives here any places he can't go for security or anything will be blocked off in some way.

Except instead of following his plan he finds himself standing in front of Tony's door, weighing the options over and over and telling himself he hadn't come to a decision when he left his room to begin with, telling himself he hadn't come to a decision when Tony said he trusted him. (Telling himself he hadn't come to a decision a long time ago, when he realized Tony wasn't afraid of him.)

Tony opens the door before Bruce gets a chance to knock, as it happens, and then for a moment they just stand and look at each other, surprised. It's nice to see all of Tony's face again. Bruce says something he hopes communicates _don't say anything for a second_ clearly, and steps forward to kiss Tony just as his face starts to twist into confusion.

They wind up stretched out on Tony's bed, facing each other, because Bruce wants to see if he can get used to having another person this close for this long again, and it hadn't been his plan but suddenly he gets hit with enough tired he doesn't think he can stand up.

"You think you'd be okay to sleep here?" Tony asks. The question is completely neutral, no expectation either way, and it's mostly because of that that Bruce smiles and says, "Yeah. Yeah, I think I would."


End file.
